Those Who Had Lost Their Way
by WritesWithQuill
Summary: During his days as a wandering sword, Erhardt finds himself in Victors Hollow at the same time as the tourney. Whilst contemplating whether or not to join the contest, he meets a sailor at an emotional crossroads and a well known hunter from S'warkii... Two-Shot
1. Part 1

_Disclaimer:_ _Octopath Traveler and the characters/places mentioned in this story belong to Square Enix - I own only the story, what a surprise!_

 _This two-shot will contain spoilers for the main stories of Olberic (ch 3 and 4), Tressa (ch 3) and H'aanit (ch 4) and the second part will take place after all their stories have been seen through, so you've been warned. It's only been rated T because the game itself is, it's not really that violent or explicit in anyway._

 _Just a little bit of shameless self promotion before we begin: in a few weeks time, I will be starting an ongoing collection of one-shots about the travelers called Travel On. This two-shot you're reading now was originally going to be two chapters of that fic before I realised it would be better as a stand alone thing. So, all I'm saying here now, is that if you enjoy this fic keep an eye open for Travel On in a couple of weeks time because it'll contain a lot more - shorter - stories in a similar style to this one._

 _Anyway, now that I've shamelessly plugged a project that's not even out yet, enjoy this fic! Please, fave, follow, review, come find me on Twitter under the same username if you'd really like, whatever... I just hope you enjoy this piece! (The second chapter will be published at the same time next week.)_

* * *

Those Who Had Lost Their Way

 _Many years ago..._

He'd been wandering for a while now, crossing from this village to that town, aiding them with his sword to put food on his plate. Not a glamourous life for the former Blazing Blade of Hornburg, but after all he'd done to his kingdom, his _friends_ , what more did he deserve?

No one ever told him revenge could be so hollow.

And after everything was said and done, Werner had just up and left, leaving Erhardt and his fellow traitors to their own devices. With a word and swift arm gesture, he'd disbanded their little group, told them to go about their own way. He'd told them the sight of them disgusted him.

And so it had come to pass, in the span of 24 hours, that Erhardt had accomplished everything he'd set out to do since his town fell. He'd also managed to destroy every friendship he'd ever made while serving King Alfred, multiple of his former comrades falling under his blade as he raged his coup. And his partner, the man he'd called _brother_ …

Erhardt rested a hand against the blade at his waist as he walked into the next town. It had been gifted to him by the King the day he'd been knighted alongside his partner, but what right did he have to swing it now, after everything he'd done?

To what end did he still carry this blade?

Melancholia setting in on him yet again, Erhardt shook his head as he crossed from the Dark Woods into Victors Hollow – a town known far and wide for it's contest of warriors. Mayhap he should enter the contest, show off his blade one more time before fading away again…

Glancing around town in search of any who might be in need of a sword, the former knight found no end of warriors. Swords, polearms, axes and bows were everywhere, even the occasional staff shone with the glow of battle. These men might fight only for the competition, but Erhardt doubted there was anyone in this town who'd need yet another sellsword added to the mix.

Dejected once again with little more reason to wield his blade now that he'd had ten hours ago, he made his way to the tavern. His leaves might've been running short, but he was sure he'd find someone willing to buy him a glass in exchange for a tale.

Contrasting greatly to the hubbub on the streets, the tavern was almost empty – a surprise considering it was going on supper time. Only one man sat at the bar, his blonde head bowed with as much sorrow as Erhardt's own. There was something familiar about the man and the blue polearm besides him, though Erhardt couldn't bring himself to try and remember what it was in his current state.

Instead, he simply took the stool next to him and threw a handful of his remaining leaves in the direction of the barkeep. "Wine, and another flagon for him."

The barkeep nodded and poured their drinks. In the meantime, the other customer looked over at Erhardt, also in vague recognition. There really was something about this young man that nagged at the back of Erhardt's mind, teasing him into remembering…

"Thank to you, Stranger." He said as the barkeep gave them their drinks, his accent pinning him down as a man of the sea.

"'Tis the least I can do," Erhardt replied as he stared into his wine – it was nothing compared to what he used to drink with- "Drinking alone is no fun, after all."

"Aye." The sailor raised his flagon. "To drinkin' with strangers."

"Aye." They clinked rims and began drinking.

With half his glass gone and the sailor still drinking, Erhardt cleared his throat and began his questions. "What brings a sailor such as you to a town like this?"

"Misfortune, my friend," said the sailor, finally putting his flagon down. "'Tis much the same for _you_ , I wager, Sir Knight."

Erhardt shrugged, impressed that the sailor had picked up on his former profession so quickly. "The Flame's not been on my side for many a year now."

"Aye?"

"Aye." He didn't particularly want to take advantage of another down on his luck traveller, but he _did_ want another drink… "A tale of woe'll cost you a drink."

Raising his single visible eyebrow, the sailor seemed more than willing to pay before another traveller sat down next to Erhardt.

"Doth thou minden if _I_ buy thee drinks for the tale?" The older gentleman asked in archaic tongue. The way he dressed and wore his bow and axe reminded Erhardt of someone in much the same way the sailor did, though he could be no more bothered to figure out who he was than he could the sailor. He was just another hunter from the Dark Wood, offering to pay for the next round.

With a simple glance at the sailor, they both shrugged at took the hunter up on his offer.

"Thanke thee, strangers," he said as they all took up their drinks.

"To drinkin' with strangers." Said the sailor again, clinking the rim of his flagon against the other's drinks.

"Aye." They said together, drinking swiftly.

"Althoughe, art we not strangers only because we knowst not what we art called?" Said the hunter as he put his flagon back on the bar.

"Very well," said Erhardt, preparing another obvious fake name to give the two. "I am known as Hardt to some; a sellsword of little repute."

"Thou doen thyself a dishonesty, Sir Knight!" Exclaimed the hunter. "Art thou not Sir Erhardt, the Blazing Blade of Hornburg?"

Erhardt gave the hunter a sharp look; he wasn't the old fool he'd originally taken him for. Meanwhile, the sailor looked at him in astonishment.

"Does he speak the truth? Are you really the Blazing Blade?"

"…'Twas a name I wore much the same as any other in my past," Erhardt shrugged, giving the hunter a harder look as he tried to figure out who he might be. "Just Erhardt shall suffice now."

"As thou wishth, Sir Erhardt." The hunter looked past him to the sailor. "And thou art?"

"Leon." He said simply, far too quickly. It was becoming clear that he too had a name he wished to hide from the hunter. "A humble captain stoppin' in town before settin' out again on the morrow."

"… Thy, too, hiden who thou really art," said the hunter, looking at Leon closely. "Art thou not Captain Leon Bastralle?"

"The pirate?" Asked Erhardt, finally remembering why he recognised that blue spear.

"… Aye." Leon took up his flagon. "Though 'tis a profession I would rather forget."

The hunter nodded, also taking a drink. Erhardt looked at the man closely, hoping to figure out who he was before he told them. He'd definitely come across the man before, though not in Hornburg. No, he'd been out on a mission with- They'd gone to assist the Knights Ardente with a threat in the Clifflands… A monster terrorising travellers. It was the Cliffland's dragon, if he remembered right. Impossible to hunt alone, they'd employed the help of a seasoned hunter from S'warkii…

"Master Z'aanta!" Erhardt exclaimed suddenly, remembering who the man before him was. Without that wolf of his by his side, he'd not been immediately recognisable. " _You_ are Z'aanta, the master hunter from S'warkii!"

"Aye!" Exclaimed Leon, also realising. "You helped me see off a kraken a few years back, did you not?"

"Indeed I didst." Z'aanta gave Leon a hard look. "Althoughe, I wast not impressed with thy attitude to those in towne. What wast it that thou spake to them as thou stolen from the weake and vulnerable?"

"The strong take… while the weak… quake…" Leon started strong, trailing off halfway through his mantra. "'Tis not a statement I believe in any longer."

"And why ist that?" Z'aanta probed.

"Because the strong fall just as easily as the weak."

"… A shameth what happened to thy friend, Master Baltazar."

"How did you-" Leon started, only for Z'aanta to interrupt him.

"The beasts in these woods tellen me all that transpires within our borders."

"… I see." Leon tried to drink from his flagon again, only to find it empty. Seeing that, Z'aanta ordered another round for the group.

"Thy wille goen on, lad." Said the hunter, supportive all of a sudden. "Wherever thou goen, Baltazar willt ben withe thee in spirit. And if thou needen more to holdth onto, thy friend's ship ist waitening to ben repaired."

"I could repair it and take it with me…" Leon's eyes lit up at the prospect, looking the most alive Erhardt had seen him yet. "I could make it a merchant's vessel, make Baltazar's dream become reality…"

"Indeed." Said Z'aanta, reaching around Erhardt to put a reassuring hand on the sailor's shoulder – inadvertently making the knight a little claustrophobic.

"A noble cause." Erhardt muttered into his wine glass, secretly relieved that he was getting free drinks without having to admit his tales. Not that he thought that would last much longer. With the Captain cheered up, attention would soon be shifted to making Erhardt feel better.

"And thou, Lord Erhardt-"

"Here we go…" He muttered into his wine glass, feeling the Captain grinning into his own flagon behind him.

"How wolde thou liken to particpateth in the warrior's tourney here in Victors Hollow?"

"…Beg pardon?" Erhardt had been expecting some sort of questioning of his actions in Hornburg, some insinuation that he was a horrible man that didn't deserve to go on. Not this.

"The contest here in towne, the one whereth warriors battlen one another in the Arena. Doest thou not wanten to puth that blade of thine to use, to fighten against men liken thyself?"

"…Why do I get the impression that _you_ would get something out of _my_ entering?" Erhardt asked, not denying his interest.

"Am I so transparente?" Asked Z'aanta with a little laugh. "In truth, I haveth already loste a faire number of leaves toe ill-founded wagers at the Arena…"

Leon laughed uproariously. " _That's_ why you want me to repair Baltazar's ship!"

"Beg pardon?" Asked Erhardt, confused by the Captain's laughter. "Am I missing something here?"

"Nay, Sir Knight," Leon shook his head as Z'aanta started to blush. "'Tis simply that, I will need more leaves and supplies to rebuild Baltazar's ship, nay? And if I am so certain of treadin' a straight path from now, I will not be able to resort to pillagin' as I used to, nay?"

"I see…" Erhardt muttered, finally beginning to understand how he was being manipulated into joining the challengers in the Arena. "You both want me to enter so that you can wager what remaining leaves you have on me."

"Aye." Leon nodded. "What better bet to place than that on one of the Twin Blades of Hornburg himself?"

That name cut deeper than Erhardt thought it would, causing him to throw the rest of his wine down his throat without a moment's hesitation. "Captain Bastralle, please do not call me that."

Leon looked a little confused, on the brink of asking a dreaded 'why not' when Z'aanta interrupted. "Thou needen not use thine own name in the tourney if thou wishen not to."

"What do _you_ want me to enter this contest for, Master Z'aanta?" Erhardt asked, still not saying no to the two men.

"In truth…" Z'aanta hesitated, seeming to fear the two laughing at him. "I haven a prentice in S'warkii who ist rather fondth of puttening me in mine place when I maketh mistakes. Were she to finden oute the number of leaves I haveth loste, I fear thou wolde hear her chastisements even outen at sea…"

The two men did laugh a little, though _with_ the older man, rather than _at_ him. It was a pleasant thing, Erhardt had to admit, laughing with comrades again. Although, there was still a large part of his mind that told him he wasn't allowed to…

"In that case," Erhardt plonked his purse of leaves on the bar. "How's about we make it a triple wager?"

"Aye?" Captain Leon asked even as he put his own purse on the bar. Z'aanta, too, put his purse with the others.

"Aye. The three of us pool our leaves together and bet them on Master Hardt, a sellsword of no repute from a lost town near former Hornburg. Master Z'aanta – being honourably known here in town – drums up support for me, makes my name known as I enter the contest. Captain Bastralle, you put all our leaves on me to win as soon as my name starts appearing in the books – if the odds are right, we will make more money than we could ever need."

"And I canst return homen without chastisement."

"And I can rebuild Baltazar's ship in good conscience."

"Aye." Said Erhardt, not knowing what he'd do with his riches once this was over, but knowing it would make these two men happy if nothing else.

"And thou, Master Hardt?" Z'aanta asked, already using his fake name. "What willt thou usen thy leaves for?"

"I know not." Erhardt admitted. "However, they will be enough to keep me travelling for a while yet."

"Aye." Nodded Leon, seeming to already have a plan for Erhardt's future.

The three men sat there, looking at their meagre leaves and empty glasses. If they played their cards right, this plan would work without a hitch and they could all go their separate ways again, all the richer for it. They collectively smiled.

"Barkeep!" Leon called. "One last round for Hardt and his merry men!"

Picking up their last drinks for the night, they turned to each other. Erhardt cleared his throat.

"We started the evening as strangers, and soon we will leave each other, strangers once again. However, for a few days, we will be friends, _partners_ -" His voice broke on the word. Clearing his throat again, he carried on. "So, let us treat each other right, friends. Let us toast my upcoming victory!"

"To Master Hardt and his merry men!" Captain Leon raised his flagon.

"Here, here!" Z'aanta called as they clinked their rims.

And so they drank one last drink before ironing out the wrinkles in their plan at the inn that night, laughing as friends as they did, Z'aanta's dire wolf companion sleeping peacefully by the fire.

'Twas a strange thing, this sudden and unexpected friendship. Though Erhardt knew they'd all go their separate ways again soon, likely to never see each other again, he couldn't help but feel a kinship to the other men, the likes of which he hadn't felt in a while. Were Olberic here, he'd say he didn't deserve to feel happy like this, that he didn't deserve friends like these because he'd only betray them again.

And though his fellow knight would have all the reason in the world to say that, Erhardt knew he wouldn't betray these men, and no men after. Not anymore.

* * *

The contest came and went, Master Hardt snatching victory from the jaws of a wandering mercenary, and their plan went off without a hitch. It was safe to say the three men were richer then than they'd ever been before or since – though Captain Leon certainly comes close from time to time.

Knowing what his prentice would think if he went back to S'warkii with so many leaves, Z'aanta was willing to leave a fair amount of his share with Leon – "An investmente in thine shipe." He'd called it. Erhardt, too, left more than half his winnings with the Captain, staying in town long after the competition was over to help the man rebuild.

Truthfully, he should've left long ago; people were starting to get suspicious of his name and story, if he wasn't careful he'd be run out of town – a traitor. However, he couldn't bring himself to leave while his new found friend was still in need.

So, they mended a ship together, cleared their conscience together, began to put their troubled past to bed – Leon more easily than Erhardt. Often, he still wondered why he held onto his blade, why he still swung it, but those questions were quietened during the time he spent helping the Captain.

Finally, many moons later, the two were finished and had created a little band of sailors who were willing to follow the reformed pirate.

"Care to come aboard?" Captain Leon asked as soon as she was sea ready.

"Nay." Erhardt shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not made for the seas."

"'Tis fair, but I thought you might want to look at my treasures before I leave, perhaps take one with you as a memento?" The captain gestured to the treasures he had on deck.

Erhardt shrugged and took a deep breath – sea sickness had plagued him for many years, not to mention the fact that he wasn't a particularly strong swimmer – beginning the walk up the gangplank onto Baltazar's ship.

Once aboard, Erhardt could truly appreciate what an impressive job the Captain had done with the ship, turning it from a once fearsome pirate ship to vessel worthy of a merchant. He could also appreciate how much the former pirate had already changed these last few months – though physically the same, his eyes were lighter, his voice more subdued, sorrow and regret no longer marred his every move.

Erhardt hoped he'd look like that again one day.

"Help yourself to one, partner." Said the Captain, gesturing at his treasures.

His words still cut a little deep, but Erhardt payed little attention to them, his focus already been caught by a beautiful saber at the ships prow.

The knight had been eager to rid himself of this sword full of bad memories for a long time now, and as much as he liked the Captain, he just couldn't validate leaving it with someone who wouldn't use it and would likely only sell it on. So, instead, he kept his hate-filled sword and took this new saber with him too.

"May I?" He asked Leon as he picked the sword up.

"Be my guest." Leon smiled gently as he saw his new-found friend take the sword that had once belonged to Baltazar. He'd never have sold it – he was too much of a sentimentalist for that – but he also never would've used it. Knowing little about swords and sword play, he wouldn't have even known what to do with it, how much to sell if for if the fancy struck him. So, who better to have it than a renowned knight?

"Are you certain you're willing to part with it?" Erhardt asked as he left the ship, new sword at his side.

"Aye, your Lordship." Leon said as he watched him leave, certain that no one else would be able to take such good care of the sword. "Farewell."

"Farewell to thee." Erhardt saluted him with his new sword as they set sail. "May we meet anon."

And so the former knight watched the former pirate leave, certain that he'd see him no more frequently than he'd see his former partner in arms. However, he'd treasure the memories he'd made with him just as much as he did with Olberic; and regret them much less, to be sure.

And so Erhardt set out on his travels again, hoping there might be someone in need of his new sword in the next town he came across. And if not, there was always the offer to join the mercenary gang…


	2. Part 2

Those Who Had Lost Their Way

If someone had told him, half a dozen moons ago, that he'd be travelling with Olberic and his merry gang of misfits back to Hornburg to put those ghosts of theirs to rest, Erhardt would've laughed in their face.

Yet here he was, following the group along at the dancer's behest.

It was a fascinating thing, to follow after these eight companions. According to Olberic, they'd be traveling together for many months now, helping each other on their search for this book, or that person, or just to fulfil a rite of passage such as going on a journey. They'd each found what they were searching for within the last two moons, and yet they travelled on together, enjoying each other's company too much to say goodbye or wanting to make sure all the loose ends were tied together before they did.

In truth, Erhardt was envious that he could only experience this companionship from the periphery, frustrated that he had once been one of the reasons they set out together in the first place. He knew how much Olberic valued the presence of other people, and yet, how unwillingly he gave his trust to others. To see him now with such a large group of people he could trust and rely on, Erhardt once again included, it was like everything they'd struggled over this last decade just melted away.

It was an amazing feeling, this sense of belonging, one he'd missed ever so much. One he hadn't felt since he was a part of the mercenary group the last time he was in this part of the Dark Woods. In fact, as he looked around, Erhardt realised they were closing in on Victors Hollow – a place he'd not visited since his mercenary days.

Apparently they were making a few stops along the way to thank some people before making their way to former Hornburg, and one of those stops was here in Victors Hollow. Apparently Olberic was the most recent champion of the warrior's contest they held here, something that amused Erhardt no end, not that he'd ever explain the real reason why.

It _was_ interesting though… Here, in this little group of misfits, was the hunter's prentice and the Captain's protégée, as well as Olberic himself. If the three of them ever found out what transpired in this town so many years ago, well, there'd be no end of asking for the story.

And yet, Erhardt smiled to himself as they started up the stairs into the town, his hand on the saber Leon had gifted him all those years ago. What he wouldn't give to see the two of them again, to hear first-hand what they'd been up to all these years…

"What's with the smile, your Lordship?" The apothecary – Alfyn – asked him.

"Nothing you'd understand, lad." He answered before turning his attention to the dancer who guided him, Lady Primrose Azelhart. "Would you mind awfully if I left you for a few hours, m'lady?"

"Why ever would you want to?" She batted her eyelashes at him. She was apparently under the impression that he followed her for her promiscuous dancing – he didn't really have the heart to tell her that he was following only to keep an eye on Olberic.

"I visited this town a great many years ago and would like to see how it's changed. I'll be back at the inn by nightfall, you have my word." Erhardt said simply, looking around the town square with wondering eyes – it was far quieter now than it'd been when he first came – remembering how Z'aanta and his wolf had cheered for him winning a duel here, how Leon had cut a good deal for them there…

"Very well." Said Primrose, seeming to see more than he would like. "There'll consequences if I don't see you in the inn tonight."

"You have my word." Erhardt reiterated, already making his way down to the tavern, a quick wave over his shoulder as he went.

The tavern was emptier now than it was when he'd first visited; not a soul but the barkeeper in sight. Reminiscing as he looked around the tavern – much the same as any other the world over, but so much more significant to him – Erhardt remembered that night as vividly as the last. 'Twas the first night that he felt he deserved a second chance, after all.

"A glass of your finest red." Erhardt ordered from the keeper, a few leaves exchanging hands. Back then, his purse had been lean; now it was practically as full as it had been when he left. Time had been kind to him, he could only hope it had been so for the others too.

Taking the glass presented to him with as much apprehension as he had back then, he still regretted that he'd never had a finer wine than that he'd drank with Olberic and the King in Hornburg.

"Hold, friend." A voice froze the glass at his lips. "'Tis no fun to drink alone, now is it?"

Erhardt smiled into his glass, it appeared the Gods had finally forgiven him after all. He turned on his stool. "Well now, there's a voice I thought I'd never hear again."

"And there's a face I ne'er thought I'd see smiling." Captain Leon Bastralle took the stool next to him, two lackies hovering around him. He turned to them, "Mikk, Makk, make yourselves scarce, you hear?"

"But Cap'n-!" The taller of the two started to say.

"Go drink over there, if you must." He pointed to the corner of the tavern. Erhardt noticed that, while his manner and voice were much more refined than they once were, he still slipped into his curt sea tongue when the occasion arised.

"Yes, Cap'n!" The other one saluted, taking his friend over to the corner and leaving their captain in peace.

"My newest recruits." Leon said by way of explanation before ordering himself a flagon. "What brings you to this part of the world again, Sir Erhardt? Or are you currently Master Hardt?"

"Simply Erhardt shall suffice, Captain Bastralle, I think we are past the time for formality."

"And yet you _insist_ on calling me Captain Bastralle?" Leon smiled.

"My apologies, Leon." Erhardt found himself incapable of not smiling in return. "How has life treated you, friend?"

"Very well," Leon admitted. "Fortune continues to favour me for my changed ways. And you?"

"…She appears to have forgiven me recently as well."

"'Tis good to hear. Through my recent travels I had the occasion to meet your former comrade in arms once or twice. Hearing him speak, I honestly thought he'd kill you before we got the chance to meet again."

"That makes two of us." Erhardt laughed. "He recently beat me in a duel and I truly thought that was the end."

"Yet you still live to tell the tale?"

"…Only in exchange for a drink." Erhardt winked. "I'll even share how I taught your protegee to fence while I do."

"You know the young lass too?" Leon's eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in confusion. "'Tis strange that she didn't mention you last we met…"

"'Twas because we hadn't yet. She told me all about _you_ when I first spoke to her."

"Aye?"

"Aye." Erhardt nodded, looking at his emptying glass obviously. "I followed them into town today, Olberic's little group of misfits. Z'aanta's prentice is with them too."

"Aye, I thought her such when I first met her." Leon nodded. "Apparently her master was in a bind, hence why she journeyed."

"Truly? Last she told me he was safe and back to his old ways."

"Aye?" Leon looked confused. "Perhaps I'm remembering wrong…"

"Age catching up to you, old friend?" Erhardt teased.

Leon laughed. "No more than it is to you! Is that grey I see at your temples?"

"I would not be surprised." Erhardt laughed with him. Truly, he hadn't felt this happy since, well, the last time Leon and he had meet.

"Barkeep, another round for me and my friend. … And a pitcher for the two in the corner." Leon pointed at his lackies who were playing cards in the far corner of the tavern before shrugging to Erhardt. "It keeps them honest."

"Thank ye, Cap'n!" They both shouted over at Leon as the barkeep put a pitcher of beer on their table.

"That it does." Erhardt raised his glass as Leon raised his flagon. "To old friends."

"To old friends." Leon said in return as they clinked rims.

"Thou hast some nerven to toasth friendship without me!" An archaic voice boomed from the doorway. Both men turned to see Z'aanta coming towards them, Hägen by his side. Apparently he was known well enough in the Dark Wood now that Hägen was allowed to follow him into public spaces.

"Master Z'aanta!" Leon exclaimed as Erhardt ordered him a flagon. "'Tis good to see you alive and well, friend. Last I heard you were turned to stone."

"Oh aye?" Erhardt asked in surprise as he handed the flagon to the hunter. "I never heard such a thing."

"Truly, Sir Erhardt? 'Tis how I spenth the last year!"

Erhardt shook his head. "My apologises, apparently that news missed me. It is good to see you now though, Master Z'aanta."

"And thou, Sir Erhardt." Z'aanta laughed. "Whenst I saw my H'aanit travelling with thou olden companion Olberic, I truly feared the worst hadst befallen thee."

"That makes two of us, Master Z'aanta." Leon admitted. "Apparently he travels with them now."

"Truly?" Z'aanta exclaimed in surprise. "Dost that meanen my H'aanit ist in towne?"

"Indeed," Erhardt nodded. "Her and those traveling with her also. I believe they are booking lodging in the inn as we speak."

"Well. It hast been nicen seeing thee again, lads." Z'aanta drank his flagon down in one flick of the wrist. "But I believeth Hägen and I sholdst ben on our way. Comest, Hägen."

The wolf simply wagged his tail, ignoring his master as he looked towards the door, something seeming to excite him.

"Comest, friend! Don not forsaken me!" Z'aanta begged his wolf as Leon and Erhardt watched in amusement.

Within moments, the door to the tavern opened, giving sight to the travellers as it did. Hägen yipped to see H'aanit and Linde, rushing over to them as his master cowered.

"Hägen! What art thou doing here?" H'aanit exclaimed, scratching the wolf's ears as he sniffed Linde. She looked up to see her master cowering between Leon and Erhardt. "Master. What haveth I told thee about drinken spirits?"

"I knowen…" Z'aanta said dejectedly. After all these years, Leon and Erhardt were seeing the fabled chastisement of master by prentice. "Not until I am recovere'd in full."

Leon leant in to whisper to Erhardt. "I am beginning to see why he was so careful all those years ago."

"Indeed." Erhardt whispered back. "I expect this is rather low on the chastise scale."

"Erhardt?" Olberic said as he noticed the man sat at the bar. "Is this where you were all this time?"

"And Mr Leon!" The merchant, Tressa, shouted at the captain. "How do you know Sir Erhardt?"

"From a long time ago, lass." Leon said simply. From that one statement it was clear to Erhardt how much he respected the girl. Hells, he might've well called her his merchant prentice there and then.

"Shame on you, Sir Erhardt, for not telling me sooner!"

"How is-" Erhardt started in confusion only to be interrupted by Olberic.

"Indeed, Erhardt. If not Tressa, you should have at least told _me_ that you knew Captain Bastralle."

"How is this-?" Erhardt started again only to cut himself short by clearing his throat. "My apologies. It never occurred to me to explain my relation to Leon since no one ever asked."

"How do you know the Captain, your Lordship?" Alfyn asked.

"We met here in town a long time ago, lad." Leon answered instead, still calm while Erhardt was starting to get a little hot under the collar. "He helped Master Z'aanta and I out of a financial bind by winning the contest held here in town."

"You won the same contest as Olberic did?" The cleric – Ophilia – asked in surprise.

"And thou losten many leaves to ill wagers heren _again_ , Master?" H'aanit asked her master with distaste.

"'Twas many moons ago, Mistress H'aanit." Erhardt said, sparing Z'aanta the explanation. "We all pooled our leaves together to bet on Master Hardt – a new comer – to win and made a small fortune."

"Master Hardt?" Olberic asked with a scoff. "Could you not come up with any better name, Erhardt?"

"Right you are, Olberic," Erhardt snapped. "Or was it Sir Berg, the hedgeknight?"

He ground his teeth.

"Regardless, after my winning performance, we split our money and Master Z'aanta returned to S'warkii." Erhardt continued.

"And you, Sir Erhardt?" Primrose asked in curiosity.

"He stayed and helped me, lass." Leon answered. "With the money we'd won, we were able to buy the necessary supplies to repair Baltazar's ship. It was hard work made all the easier by a second pair of hands."

"And thou didst not stayen to helpth, Master?"

"I cannot winen with thee, H'aanit!" Z'aanta exclaimed, immediately laughing to show he meant it with no malice.

"And once you were finished, you gave Erhardt the sword he now carries." Therion pointed at the sword at the knight's belt. "Thought I recognised it from somewhere."

"Aye, lad." Leon nodded as he looked at the saber, reminiscence in his eyes. "I could think of no better man to carry Baltazar's saber."

"…This was Baltazar's?" Erhardt asked, a little surprised.

"Aye. …Did you not know that, Erhardt?" Leon asked, also surprised.

"Nay…" Erhardt unsheathed the saber, looking at it closely. "I saw only a beautiful blade that had once meant a lot to a warrior of a man. A blade who would find no master on a ship like yours. So I took her and polished her up, kept her ever by my side. You can rest easy knowing she has been well looked after, friend."

"As I knew she would be when I left her with you." Leon gently ran his fingertips over the blade. "Baltazar would be happy to know she was being used by a knight such as yourself."

There was a pause as everyone took in the exchange between the two men.

"Sentimentalists." Therion coughed only to be punched in the arm by the scholar – Professor Cyrus Albright, Erhardt believed was his name.

"What Therion means to say," he gave the thief a hard look. "Is that we would be interested in hearing more about how the three of you came to know each other. Would that be possible?"

The three men exchanged glances before shrugging. "Whichen one of thee ist buying?" Z'aanta asked.

"Master, no!" H'aanit exclaimed at the same time as Olberic pulled up his purse. "I will."

He took the stool next to Erhardt. "A round of mead for us all, and three non-alcoholics."

"And a second pitcher for the gentlemen in the corner, on me, my good man." Leon added, pointing to the already drunk pair in the far corner.

"Thank ye, Cap'n!" They shouted as the drinks were distributed, Z'aanta looking at his non-alcoholic in vague disgust.

"Mead, Olberic?" Erhardt asked in surprise as they took their flagons.

"The wine around here does not hold a candle to those brewed in the Highlands." Olberic answered simply as he took a swig from his flagon, face mildly disgusted. "Better to drink something disappointing than be disappointed by a good drink."

Erhardt laughed and clinked rims with his partner. "You might be right, old friend."

Looking around at the group of misfit travellers before him, Erhardt realised that his best days might be yet to come if they continued to let him travel with them. Perhaps he could convince Ophilia to ask Leon to join them – if he did not ask, he was sure the young merchant would…

Erhardt smiled as he looked down at the flagon in his hand and back up at the people before him. "And where would you like me to start, Professor?"

* * *

 _AN:_

 _I realised during the week that there are a few time-based inconsistencies in this story since Leon was already steering Baltazar's ship before the fall of Hornburg, so we're going to pretend those inconsistencies don't exist for the sake of this story. I took a few 'creative liberties' with it, if you will..._ _Regardless, I hope you enjoyed this because I loved writing it!_

 _Anyway, more shameless self promotion incoming: Travel On will be starting this time next week as a collection of oneshots about the travellers and those they have met or travelled with in the past. If you liked this story or if you're interested in any way, shape or form, I ask you to come check it out since I've really enjoyed writing the few stories I already have for it._

 _Also, during this coming week, I'll be posting another Octopath story, this time about Ogen. This was also meant to be a part of Travel On, but it came out at over 6000 words so I've decided to post it as a stand alone. If you're interested, I loved writing this too and ask you to check it out._

 _So, shameless promotion of upcoming projects over, I just want to thank everyone who has read this story. I hope you've enjoyed it and also hope to see you soon on my other Octopath projects!_

 _~WWQ_


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